Spectacles
by handschuhmaus
Summary: Voldemort can't see. What's a poor dark lord to do? Why go to the optometrist, of course! Who else needs glasses, and how will Voldy deal with pretending to be left-handed? And, most importantly, can he get his contacts out?
1. I: Optometry

_Disclaimer: This is a bit of pointless drivel involving Voldemort, who is not my property whatsoever. It's one of those Voldemort does Muggle things stories. I just couldn't resist the plot bunny when it occurred to me… 'cause I just got contacts for the first time yesterday. Some incidents are roughly based on my own experiences, and the story is of indefinite length._

Voldemort nodded quite self-assuredly at the sign outside the optometrist's office, attempting to hide his anxiety regarding his appointment within. Lately, he had found the words of his dark tomes were beginning to blur, even as he could scarcely make out the person standing a yard away from him. It was all a blur and he simply had to be treated, for right now, if he were to get into a battle with his mortal enemy, all he would have for a target would be a skin-colored and robe-colored and slightly black blob. Quite frankly, it was extremely embarrassing to have such poor vision while being such a powerful wizard.

In any case, the dark wizard forced himself to regain composure, and tugged Pettigrew, rather nervously, through the tinted doors beside him.

"Please sign in," the receptionist informed him, not looking up.

Voldemort looked around, unsure of what to do. He had heard that signing in was something you were supposed to do when you worked someplace, but, really, he wasn't trying to get a job here! He was trying to do something about his abysmally bad vision.

"On the clipboard," she suggested helpfully, still looking at something on the desk in front of her.

Voldemort shuffled his feet and looked down at the clipboard. He bent down to within a foot of the paper, and, sticking his tongue out, grasped the… writing utensil in his left hand, and barely managed a respectable scrawl of the name "Tom M. Riddle"

_Totally random A/N: I just noticed that Tom and I have the same middle initial. My middle name isn't Marvolo, though._

Why on earth had he made the appointment under that old embarrassing name? And why had he decided that it was a good idea to disguise himself as a left-handed person?

"Now, I just need you to sign these papers with regard to our privacy policy." The receptionist pushed forward some papers without looking at him.

Voldemort gulped. He made a general policy of never signing anything he hadn't read, but he really couldn't read this tiny print. Besides, what harm could it do? Muggles couldn't magically bind him to a contract, and this cleared up a little of his ambivalence about the whole thing—the ambivalence due to his going to a Muggle optometrist because he didn't want wizards knowing about his terrible vision. So he signed, not noticing that one of the papers included this ominous sounding phrase "You agree not to hold Doctor Hillary liable for any damages."

"And now if you could update your information at that little kiosk over there…" the receptionist pointed to a station that was currently occupied by a black haired man.

Voldemort muttered his agreement, and shuffled over, pulling Pettigrew along with him, to wait in line for the kiosk.

But he was more than just slightly surprised when he recognized its occupant…


	2. II: Scrying Glass

_A/N: In this chapter, you get to see immediately who else is at the optometrist, and Voldemort, courtesy of dramatic anachronisms on my part, gets to work a computer in a scene that is not inspired by my eye doctor experiences, but rather by sign-in kiosks at two different hospitals. But my optometrist does have a coffee machine. Oh, yes, and it took me about five minutes and about seven attempts between the two eyes to get them in today, versus twenty-five minutes yesterday! Er, by the way, it's not that important, and I think you'd figure it out anyway, but __**bold italics like this**__ indicate that the words are being spoken in Parseltongue._

_Disclaimer: I have not suddenly purchased the rights to Voldemort. He's not worth that much to me. Same goes for Pettigrew. As for Snape, I simply do not have the money! (And of course, I'm not making any off this story, either.)_

Voldemort drummed his fingers in the air frantically, trying to figure out how he could disguise himself so that Severus Snape would not recognize him. Why was Snape here anyway? Didn't he know well enough not to interfere with the Dark Lord's optometrist visit? Didn't he have perfect vision, anyway?

"_**Pettigrew**_!" he hissed, and then realized, in his panic, that the ratty little man wouldn't understand Parseltongue anyway, and that this might alert Severus to his presence. How many people were there, anyway, who could speak Parseltongue? Just himself and that infernal boy. His wand hand itched. He would curse him! He'd kill him! Oh yes he would! His thoughts returned to the Muggle office. "Pettigrew?"

Peter Pettigrew was currently occupied with staring at a behemoth of a machine. It was mostly black, though the front was decorated with something large and brown, and there was a large stack of cups beside of it. He did not reply.

"No," muttered the Potions master towards the kiosk, as if it could understand him (of course it couldn't!) "I am not interested in those. Why does the blasted thing have advertisements every other screen?"

Voldemort, moving closer, chanced a baffled glance at the kiosk screen, which was currently displaying a rather inane looking if vaguely attractive blonde, who appeared to be occupied with poking herself in the eye. Hmmph. Weird Muggles. Then he blinked, as her eye changed color. If he were Pettigrew, which he wasn't, he might take this to mean that poking yourself in the eye could supposedly change the color of your eyes, according to the Muggles. Maybe the woman had put something in her eye, or maybe the Muggles were just trying to demonstrate ways they could deface a picture.

Voldemort giggled slightly, but then attempted to hide his face with his collar, forgetting, of course, that he was wearing a Muggle garment called a t-shirt which did not have a collar and he therefore appeared to be attempting to disrobe. Well, not in a literal sense. Because he wasn't wearing robes at the moment—he was wearing Muggle clothing! And even so, it probably wouldn't have worked too well had he been wearing robes, because most robes, unlike the dramatic black cloak he was thinking about, did not, in fact, have collars—they had yokes, instead.

Severus Snape, who did not recognize the man at this point, partially because his mind was occupied, partially because he couldn't see very well this morning with his contacts out, and he hadn't thought to bring the glasses, ignored the other patient, casting him only one odd glance as he brushed past him at uncomfortably close proximity, and took a seat in the waiting room.

Noticing that Pettigrew was still only paying attention to the machine, Voldemort took a seat, and stared at the board that was sitting before him. It had a bunch of buttons, most of which were labeled with letters or numbers or symbols, although the words on some of them baffled him. "Esc"? "Ctrl"? "Caps lock"?

The screen told him to enter his name. So, painstakingly, he sought out the buttons V…O-L-D-E-M-O-R-T. Looking at the screen again, he noticed that the word "voldemort" had appeared in the box, but nothing else was happening. Apparently the screen did not understand! He tapped the "ctrl" button, wondering what it did, but nothing happened. Then he nervously pressed the shift button. A thought occurred to him. Didn't Muggles sometimes talk about shifting gears? So perhaps if he pressed the shift button repeatedly, the screen would shift and understand his input.

He promptly began his experiment. He tapped the button. And tapped it again. And repeated the action several more times. He was rewarded for his efforts by an annoying beep, and a box appearing on the screen that asked him "Do you want to turn on Sticky Keys?" He blushed profusely, but was able to discern from the box that the buttons were called keys. Gazing over the desk in desperation, as he didn't know what would get rid of the box, and he doubted it would be helpful in whatever he was supposed to be accomplishing for the optometrist at the kiosk, his eyes chanced upon the slightly blurry outline of a blob, which, upon exploring it with his hands, appeared to have two click-y buttons on it and a rather sticky wheel sticking out between them.

He then discovered that clicking the buttons made the screen blink, so he flipped over the thing to try to figure out if there were any other things it would do to the screen. He discovered a ball on the underside of the object, which, if he rolled it around within its hole, made a little white arrow move around on the screen. Hmm... And if he positioned the little white arrow thingy on one of the little boxes where it said "No", and then pressed the clicky button, what would happen?

Well, the one button produced another box, with a list of confusing words, but the second button made the "Do you want to turn on sticky keys?" box go away. Perhaps, however, it would be easier to operate the little clicky-button-arrow-manipulator tool by rolling the ball on the tabletop? Yes, that seemed to be a good idea.

Having figured out how to work this Muggle contraption, he jabbed violently at the clicky button with the arrow over "OK", underneath the box for his name.

The screen notified him, bluntly, in a friendly large font "Patient not found. Please try again."

Oh dear. He had been a bit stupid, after all, entering "Voldemort". The Muggle kiosk couldn't know—well, not many wizards did know, anyway, that Voldemort had once been known as Tom Marvolo Riddle and he was now using the name again for this appointment.

Then he read the screen more carefully and noted that it wanted his last name, which, probably, meant his surname. So, he painstakingly jabbed the R I D D L E keys and clicked at the OK button.

_First name?_ The screen now inquired of him. Grumbling slightly, he sought out the T O M keys and clicked another in the stream of OK buttons—apparently this was the Muggle screen's answer to "I'm finished with what you asked me to do, please use or file this information now!"

Fortunately for the screen (else it might have been hit with a blasting hex), there was only one Tom Riddle in the system, so it did not require Voldemort to identify his middle name or initial. Instead, it asked "Do you presently wear glasses?" "Contacts?" "When did you last visit an optometrist?" To the first two questions, he clicked on the "No" boxes, causing a check mark to appear within them, and to the last question, he quite truthfully typed "never". This time, when he clicked on OK, he was greeted with a moving picture at the bottom of the screen, which appeared to be something about sunglasses, and at the top of the screen it said "Thank you for registering at Hillary and Jacobs Eye Care. Please have a seat in the waiting room and wait to be called."

As he made his way to the seat, studying the machine that fascinated Pettigrew in passing (It turned out to be a machine that dispensed coffee and other hot drinks), the door to the office swung open again, and a ghastly woman with very thick glasses, wrapped in so many shawls that it looked like she had dressed herself from a trunk in an attic, walked up to the reception desk.

"I was referred here by Albus Dumbledore," she reported to the receptionist.

"We have no such patient," the woman said in reply, doing what she had failed, somewhat fortunately, to be snared into doing by Voldemort. She looked up at the entrant.

"My name is Sybil Trelawney and I understand that this is an eye doctor's office. I would like to schedule an appointment… for next week, and I also have brought my, uh, nephew, in, to see Doctor Hillary," the insane looking woman reported.

The next entrant to the office filled Voldemort with a nasty fire of hatred. It was his mortal enemy, Har—well, let's just say it was the "Boy-Who-Lived", as the Gryffindors called him. What was he doing here, and how dare he discover that Voldemort had poor eyesight? How dare he? Did he—of course he does, you stupid half-blood! He wears glasses after all.

_But Severus doesn't_. A little voice intruded upon his rant. _And he's at the optometrist, too. Is there a way to wear glasses and not wear glasses?_

Intrigued, Voldemort forgot all about the entrance of his mortal enemy, despite the fact that Severus was glaring at wall beside the boy. Instead, his eyes lighted upon some sort of advertisement for "disposable contacts."

A pretty young-ish Muggle emerged from a door in the waiting room, and read from her clipboard, "Snape?"

Severus Snape rose and followed her, to a slightly bemused look from Trelawney and an angry, confused look from the boy.

Pettigrew chose this moment to stop gazing adoringly at the machine and instead looked hopefully at Voldemort.

_Yay! It's almost three times as long as yesterday's installment. Don't know if I'll update daily, though. Do you think that the Slytherins can refrain from blowing the office sky-high by getting into a fight with Harry? And what is going to come of Pettigrew's fascination with the coffee machine?_


	3. III: Looking Glass

_Disclaimer: More rather pointless drivel, in an even more crack-ish and three-walled tone (Fourth wall? It don't exist. It melted under the gaze of Voldemort.) I don't own Voldemort, Pettigrew, Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Schoolhouse Rock (Siriusly—okay, __**seriously**__, I don't even own a recording of any of the songs in any form), or an optometrist office, although I did make up the details of this fictional one, basing them off my own optometrist's office._

_Remember, dear reader, when we last left them, as they were in the waiting room of the optometrist's office, having just discovered that Harry Potter sees the same optometrist (and has an appointment at present), Pettigrew seemed to want to ask Voldemort a very pressing question. Or at least, he looked hopefully at the Dark Lord…_

"What is it, Pettigrew?" the myopic Dark wizard ground out.

"Can I have a cup of coffee?" pleaded the pathetic Pettigrew (ooh! Alliteration!).

"Whatever," he said petulantly, and stared towards his arch-enemy, who right now resembled an infuriatingly shaped blur more than anything whatsoever else.

Having received permission from his master, Pettigrew began to, confusedly, dispense coffee from the machine. At first he forgot to place a cup under the dispenser and so dispensed the hot beverage into the tray.

_Could Potter see him? Could that terrible Boy Who Lived see him? Could he?_

Raising his wand—and not forgetting to do it with his left hand, either!—he cast a quick Sharp Sight charm on himself, and was able to discern that the Gryffindor was not wearing glasses. Why, you ask, did he not simply use this Sharp Sight charm on himself and save the trouble of going to the optometrist at all? Two reasons: The Sharp Sight charm doesn't last very long, and a complicated, interruptive incantation must be repeated at intervals to renew it if cast more than once a day, and you must simply face the fact that Voldemort is simply the sort of person to apply logic only in the most illogical of ways and so never consider using a sharp sight charm on himself to cure his myopia. (He had failed to even think of going to a magic optometrist-never mind that most of them would be scared stiff of him—but we will refrain from discussing that dismal alley of conversation.)

Still worried that Potter could see him, he cast a disillusionment charm and a notice-me-not charm on himself. However admirable this bit of foresight might be, and we will grant him that it was probably a good idea, there is still the pressing issue that raising a stick and muttering strange words only to make weird things happen in front of Muggles will make them think you are absolutely nutters, and furthermore, the nurse, due to the former problem, was staring directly at him when he cast the notice-me-not charm. Fortunately for her, she shook her head at the odd sensation of having been staring at nothing at all quite intensely, and her mind forgot about Voldemort being there.

Contrariwise, this was nowhere near as fortunate for the Dark Wizard. Being invisible to the persons staffing your doctor's office is a frustrating and inadvisable experience, as Voldemort would gladly inform you (If you are a Muggle, and he knows it, he might kill you afterwards, but, hey, all great wizards have their weaknesses, right? Right? Oh, aaaah!)

Said nurse, who had been about to call Voldemort back, looked around confusedly for a moment, dismissed Pettigrew, who was lapping at his coffee and pouring in cream and sugar, and, confused, finally settled upon shaking her head and calling the next patient, who, of course, happened to be Voldemort's nemesis, Harry—actually, please disregard that last phrase, as the author has been threatened with some very painful curses if she does not refrain from referring to Harry as Voldemort's anything. (Despite the fact that her earlier violations of the rule went entirely unnoticed, perhaps due to her use of pronouns and avoidance of Rufus Xavier Sasparilla-hey!).

Incensed with rage, Voldemort attempted to arrest the momentum of the "Boy-Who-Lived", but only succeeded in making Harry extremely confused as his face was grasped in fury by invisible hands which seemed to be holding a rather sweaty pamphlet and a wand. (and said Gryffindor informed your author, under duress, that the pamphlet almost caused a painful paper cut on his ear.)

The nurse watched as Harry stopped suddenly, panicked and ran towards the door, and she stood motionless, puzzled, as Voldemort strode past her emphatically and looked around the inner rooms of the optometrist's sanctum.

He was entirely ready to see Doctor Hillary.

_So, how is Voldemort going to navigate the office? And will he think to take off the disillusionment charm? And Pettigrew, what's going to become of him? Will Harry recognize him? Will the rat get thrown out for atrocious manners, even though they are the least of his egregious crimes? _


End file.
